The Tear Stone
by The Warrior Poet
Summary: Gather around all of you who would listen, for I have a tale to tell. A tale of a stone awash in blue, of six heroes whose destinies are interweaved...of a darkness ready to be unleashed upon the world.
1. Prologue

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Prologue

"Travel with all possible haste, my dark child," The voice said, as dark and cold as a midnight snowstorm. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once in this place where the world of the spirits intersected with the world of the mortals. _"You will find the stone passed the Gerudo Wastes and through the Hill Country of Merr. It sits on an altar atop the highest mountain of the Avakarat Ranges. It is protected by the Zarda tribe so take three fists with you, at the least." _

"I'll not fail you, my lord." Zir replied, anxious to leave this strange place as soon as he could. It was within the dank recesses of a sea cave, the pinnacle lost in the darkness high above him. Bat guano covered every inch of black rock, and further down where the waves crashed in and echoed angrily black Narseals with long, spiraling tusk's lazed upon the rocks, barking into the darkness. His master's voice ushered from a dark pool, deeper than he would dare imagine. The water was so black that it could be easily spotted in amongst the lesser shadows of the cave, standing out like some evil omen. 

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"See that you do not, Zir. With this stone I can once again enter the living world and exact my revenge on all that wronged me. The bloodline of the Hero of Time has dwindled and died; there will be none that can stop me." 

"I will see it done my lord." Zir said, twitching his long whiskers. He was a feline demi-human, walking as straight and tall as a man but having the appearance of a fierce tiger with red and white stripes. 

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"Good. Leave at once. It is a five week journey if the weather is good, seven if it isn't." The pool then swirled and his master's voice faded out, echoing for a moment as it disappeared. 

At hearing this his brother and lieutenant Arck let out an exasperated sigh. He was feline as well, but he was white with black stripes. He stood next to his other lieutenant, a rare breed of bird demi-human. Vwalir was his name; he was tall, with the head of a bald eagle and the muscles of a blacksmith. Vwalir never had any expression; he was forever intent, his eyes and ears never missing a thing. He had developed a habit of always keeping one hand on the haft of his battleaxe, strapped across his broad back. _Scouting would be much more helpful if he was born with wings. _He thought, not for the first time. While sitting around a campfire once he had casually asked him if the peoples of his clan ever grew wings and the warrior had refused to talk about it. 

Dismissing his thoughts, he signaled for the two to start for the cave entrance. They held up their torches and did so, gathering up the foot soldiers from the adjoining cavern in which they had sat down to rest. They were fifteen in all, making up a fist and a half. Some were demi-human's of varying types, others were men who had sworn themselves to the service of the Dark King. Most of them carried scythes, a few of them swords that had been stolen off of fallen corpses of warriors from sacked village's. Nearly none of them were armored, except for the occasional helm or leather breastplate. 

"Up!" Zir commanded, his voice echoing throughout the cavern. As the men gathered up their things and made ready to depart his brother began to complain about this new order. 

"...Ridiculous. It will take five weeks if we are lucky, seven if we are not?" He said, in his deep voice that was half roar half speech. 

"I heard him, Arck. It is not for us to question our master's orders. This stone is apparently very important or else the Dark King would not be so serious about our haste." 

Vwalir nodded in agreement, not speaking. He rarely spoke. 

"I understand that, but I like not at all the sound of this Zarda tribe. What if we are outnumbered or unprepared? We will be two weeks journey from the nearest garrison. We will be unable to reinforce ourselves--"

"Enough, Arck," Zir said. "Concentrate on the task at hand. We know nothing of these Zarda; they could be merely a group of savages with clubs. Wait until we reach our destination. We will study these Zarda and determine the best strategy we can of annihilating them. We will even bring half of another fist to be safe." 

Arck sighed in resignation, though Zir could still tell that his doubts and fears had not been extinguished. When the foot soldiers were ready to depart they marched down the cavern and came out into the cool sea air. The sun was already beginning to set, the west becoming a canvas of red and orange fire while east grew dim and purple, tiny blue stars winking into existence one by one. The waves were turbulent and splashed high, nearly overtaking them where they climbed single file up the side of the cliff along a tiny trail. Nevertheless they made the climb without incident, setting up camp behind a towering rock tower that provided ample shelter. 

Tomorrow, the journey would begin. 


	2. Chapter 1

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Chapter 1

Takiya raced along the shadow cast by the wall, bent low and making absolutely no sound with her footfalls. She reached the end of the wall and jumped up, her fingers grasping the top edge. She pulled herself up, grunting quietly with the effort. She reached the top and pulled her legs over, taking shelter within the coverage of the fern bed grew at the top, green and thick. She surveyed her surroundings. 

It was a fair-sized villa, made entirely of creme stucco and red tile roofing. The walls were tall except for the one she had just scaled on the northern side. The eastern wall was built right up to the sea; it was tall and thick to withstand the waves crashing up against its surface. The courtyard that led up to the palace was full of every kind of plant imaginable. Red and green ferns, blue star roses, golden sunflowers, dogwoods with red flowers growing in and amongst their leaves, even cherry blossom trees from the Far East. 

There were two sentries that she could see, sentries that she would have to bypass if she were to enter the palace. She sat laid there for several moments, observing their patrolling patterns. The first sentry, about forty feet from where she hid, stood looking up at the stars with a dumbfounded expression on his face. He would be easy to get pass, but the second guard was another matter. Where as the first sentry was idle and inattentive the second was constantly moving, his eyes wide open, silently scanning his surroundings like a hawk. She might have to cut his throat if she was going to get to the palace. She gripped the hilt of her dagger where it was in her belt, taking comfort in the cold surface of the silver. 

And then, with a single smooth movement, she sprang from the fern bed and rolled on the ground, crawling to the three-foot high flowerbed that separated her from the first guard. She found a rock on the ground next to the wall and grasped it. Slowly popping her head up she saw that the guard was still staring upward, as if he were reading the stars like the text in a book. She tossed the stone away to her left and it impacted against the wall about twenty feet away. The guard took the bait hook line and sinker, pulling his eyes away from the night sky and strolling toward the sound to investigate. 

Takiya hopped the wall and bounded toward the palace. As she neared the second guard she slowed and crawled along slowly. Keeping to the shadows, staying behind the walls. She reached the wall that the guard patrolled the other side of and pressed her back up against it, sliding along it until she reached it's end. She could hear the guard walking toward her hiding place on the other side and could swear that she could feel his eyes staring at her through the wall. She could hear her heart beat in her ear. The adrenaline was building, and fast. He stayed at the end of the wall for a moment, staring at the sea, and when he turned around to walk back the other way she struck. She spun around to the other side, her hand outstretched. In one smooth motion powered by adrenaline and quick as lighting she found the sentry's mouth, covering it to muffle his cry and pinned his head up against the wall. Her knife found the unfortunate sentry right in the throat. She slammed the blade upward and ended his life with a violent twist. She listened for a moment, to make sure that the other sentry hadn't been alerted. No sound. He must have returned to his appraisal of the firmament. 

She dragged the body into the shadow of the wall so that it wouldn't be discovered until morning. The sentry's tunic served as a rag to wipe her knife clean, and after she had finished she moved on. This close to the palace she could hear the sounds of the party ushering from within. The clink of wine glasses mixed with conversation and laughing, and above it all was the dissonant sound of a piano ballad. 

Takiya made her entrance through a side door that led to one of the storage rooms. She undressed amongst chairs stacked almost to the ceiling and piles of pots and pans. With her loose fitting assassin clothing off she took out the midnight blue gown from her pack and donned it. It was far to tight and revealing for her taste but it would serve for tonight's purpose. Her larger knife, silver with a sapphire in it's hilt, would have to stay with her pack. There would be no way to conceal it with the dress that she wore. Instead she took a much smaller dagger, the blade edged with diamond. It had an ivory hilt with fine golden inlay, but it was just as deadly as it was beautiful, much like herself. 

The dagger was placed at the top of her waist-length braid, dark and shining. To the naive nobles that she would see in the party it would look to be nothing more than an expensive hair piece when in truth it would be used to kill their lord. Takiya found that rather comical.

She hid the pack with her belongings behind a pile of pots and then she found the inner door, opening it and emerging into a long hall. It was beautifully decorated, with golden inlay work in each door and fine tapestries hanging upon each wall. Every twenty or so feet was an end table that sat against the wall filled with pottery, or fine china. 

She found the ballroom rather quickly, just following the sounds of the party. The two doors that led into the enormous room were propped open, with two guards standing at either side. She nodded at them as she walked through. They made no attempt to stop her; to them she looked like just another person invited to the party, perhaps the daughter of a rich noble. She emerged into the wave of music and conversation and highborn nobles. 

If the hall was well decorated the ballroom was nothing less than extravagant. The ceilings were high and vaulted, painted with the scene of a group of beautiful people dancing in what looked to be the very same ballroom. The floor was creme colored marble veined with both silver and gold; they gleamed brightly from the light cast from the three enormous chandeliers that hung above. The eastern wall was made completely of glass, with three doors along its base. The doors were open, leading out onto a wide balcony that looked out on the sea and the full moon, it's blue light reflecting on the surface of the waves. 

Takiya made her way through the crowd of well-dressed celebrators, many times having to push and squeeze through groups of people who were having conversations. She searched for her victim, her eyes looking for something that would make a lord standout. Then she spotted him, in the center of a group who were lining up to kiss his hand. He was an old man, with a potbelly and a head with absolutely no hair on its smooth surface. Every one of his stubby fingers had a ring, or two in some cases. His neck was covered with golden necklaces and his clothing was made of the finest silk.

Takiya smiled. 

She pushed her way toward the lord, formulating a plan in her head. When she had almost reached him she had already considered every possible outcome, every route of escape, and every way to kill the fat man. But then something happened that she did not intend. A young man appeared from the crowd, stopping her. He was tall and slim; his hair was a rich red color, tied behind his head in a tail that fell to his shoulders. He was dressed almost as finely as the lord, with the standard garb of most nobles. A black coat that fell to mid-thigh, with golden decorations on both shoulders and the badge of his house over his heart. His badge was of a whitetail deer in mid-leap, on a red field. His pants matched the coat, a bit loose fitting. The young man was a little too elegant for her taste, she preferred more rugged men. She wouldn't deny that he was attractive, though. 

"Hello, my lady. I saw you from across the room and decided that I had to talk with someone with such beauty, such grace." The man said. He stared at her with his green eyes. Just as she was about to reply the somber ballad was replaced by a more lively tune. "May I have this dance?" He asked, holding out his hand. 

"I am honored, but I really must speak to Lord Dunkirk." She tried to move past but he stopped her once more, grasping her shoulder. Takiya was tempted to draw the dagger and cut his throat. She didn't like being touched without consent. 

"Lord Dunkirk is a boring old man. I assure you that I will show you a much more pleasant time than him. Come, let us dance." He said, holding out his hand once more. Takiya, realizing that there would be no other way to get rid of him, reluctantly took it. He pulled her out onto the dance floor and put his hand around her waste. They began to dancing, spinning in circles amongst the other couples. 

"Do you have a name, my lady?" The young man asked, as they twirled around in unison. 

"Takiya. And yours?"

"I am Glazyre, son of Lord Fennington. I am glad to make your acquaintance, Takiya." He replied. Takiya knew that he had lied immediately. She didn't know what house the symbol on his coat stood for but she did know that it wasn't the Fennington standard. She had seen the Fennington standard before; it depicted a Narseal on a blue field. But why would he lie to her?

"Glazyre...an interesting name. It sounds Merrish but the Fennington's are from Avidia. What is the story behind such an uncommon name?" She asked, curious of what his reply would be. 

He hesitated for a moment, unsure, but he recovered quickly. "My father has many friends in Merr; he named me after a mentor he had long ago." 

"Interesting...so what do you know about Lord Dunkirk, what kind of man is he?" She asked.

"A vain one. His only cares are for riches and women." Glazyre replied, his fair face souring.

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Excellent. Takiya thought. This would be easier than she thought. 

"Why do you have such interest in him, if you don't mind me asking?" He asked. She felt his hand move a fraction lower, to the top of her hip. 

"He was a good friend of my father, before he died. I met him when I was a child but many years have passed and I wish to become reacquainted with him." Takiya replied. She had formulated the story beforehand, incase of a situation like this. 

His hand moved even lower, to the middle of her hip. He had crossed her border. She grabbed his hand and gripped one of the fingers, squeezing it tightly. "Move any lower and I will break one of your fingers." 

"I-I apologize, my lady. It's just that I adore the feel of satin." He said, stuttering. She let go of his finger and then the song ended. They stopped their frolic and he led her away from the dance floor.

"I must see Lord Dunkirk now, before he retires for the night. I thank you for the dance, Glazyre." She was turned walk away but a thought sparked in her mind. She turned back to the young man. 

"You wouldn't happen to have come here in a carriage tonight, have you?" She asked. 

"Uh...yes. As a matter of fact I did. Why?" He asked.

"I am in need of a ride home," she said. She pressed herself against him and whispered into his ear, "if you would provide me with one perhaps we can get better acquainted when we reach my manse. Would that be too much trouble?" She used her most seductive voice, a voice that would make an average man do anything she wished him to. 

"...Yes, I would be delighted. Any gentleman wouldn't let a woman such as yourself walk the dark streets alone. Alans Bay is dangerous when the sun goes down. My carriage is parked out front. I will greet you at the door when you are ready to depart. How long to you suspect your deliberations with Lord Dunkirk will last, my lady?"

"Not long. I will meet you in about thirty minutes." She replied. With this she left him, and moved on to her target. She could think of no better escape route than this one, there would be no one to suspect that she was an assassin fleeing from the crime scene. She would ditch the lordling, if that was what he really was, when she was far enough away from the villa. 

For now she had to concentrate on the kill...


	3. Chapter 2

Glazyre strolled down the front steps of the sprawling palace, walking toward his stolen carriage in his stolen clothing...and thinking about a certain hair ornament that he intended to have by the end of the night. It was the hair ornament that first caught his eye when he saw the woman pushing through the crowd, toward Lord Dunkirk. When he found that the woman was beautiful as well as rich he became quite confident, and quite happy that he wouldn't only be getting the ornament tonight, but a good time as well. 

At first Glazyre thought that he had struck out, and that he would be forced to find another victim at this party he had stolen so much to go to this night. But alas the woman returned just has he was about to depart, whispering a tantalizing promise in his ear...

Glazyre reached his new carriage in no time. It was parked not far from the entrance, tightly squeezed between two others. It was a forest green color, with golden vines painted across each side. His driver, a out of work carpenter that he had hired to draw the carriage, was asleep in his seat, his hands holding the reins lightly. The two packhorses were nickering impatiently, snorting in the cool air.   
  
Glazyre punched the man in the arm and he awoke with a jolt, his eyes searching wildly for his assailant. When he saw who it was he said, "S-sorry milord, I was just resting my eyes for a moment...are you ready to leave?" 

Glazyre glared at him. The man had no idea that he was calling a lowly thief "milord". He decided he would play the part. "I'm not paying you to sleep you lowborn wretch. We will be joined shortly by a young lady and she will give you directions to her manse. Don't get yourself lost and show her the courtesy she is due."

"Yes, of course milord." He said, hastily. He sat up straight, at attention. 

"Good." Glazyre said. _Now, only to wait._

* * *

The dagger caught the fat man right in his wiggly jowls, and Takiya almost expected him to bleed gold. He coughed and gurgled, his eyes wide...the look of death beginning to spread across them. He was dead a few moments later, and Takiya--bared to her waist--pulled the dress up and began to collect her things. 

After a few minutes of flirting and innuendo the fat man was ready to come with her to the storage room where she had entered the palace. When they reached the cramped room she needed only to slip her dress down and bare her breasts. The man was so occupied with staring at them that he didn't even notice when she pulled the dagger from her hair, and he didn't realize that his life was in danger until the dagger slipped in under his chin. By then it was too late. 

She took all the jewelry he had, stuffing it in her pack. She left the same way that she had come, leaving the manse and walking around the outer wall toward the promised carriage ride. She would have to come up with an excuse for the pack that she held, she realized. She thought of one quickly. She never had trouble with lying convincingly. 

She found the young man with his back rested against the carriage. When he saw her coming he questioned the pack, just as she thought he would. 

"It was my father's. Lord Dunkirk thought that I should have it." She said. Glazyre believed her, he had no reason not to. She, however, had to be weary about what this enigmatic young man had to say. He had already lied to her once...

Glazyre helped her into the carriage with an outstretched hand, and in no time they were off. Takiya gave the driver false directions and began thinking of a way that she could escape him. During the ride Glazyre filled her ear with prattle; she did little more than shake her head when he finished a statement. After about ten minutes the carriage came to a sudden halt. 

Glazyre paused in the middle of what he was saying and called out to the driver. "What is wrong? Make haste!" 

"I'm sorry milord, there seems to be a situation up ahead. The road is blocked." Came the voice from the front. A quick glance out of the curtain showed that the halter chains of two carriages' horses had become entangled and the two drivers were trying desperately to loose them. The two nobles that rode in each carriage were arguing with each other, each blaming the other for the mishap. 

Takiya realized that this was her chance. Glazyre told her to wait in the carriage as he went to see what the problem was. When he left she slipped out the opposite door and into the night. 

* * *

She met her employer in the mist-covered dock area, as had been previously arranged. The man covered his face with a tall top hat that shadowed his face. His clothing was dark but fine tailored. It was probably a rival of Lord Dunkirk's, maybe a noble or a lord himself to judge by his clothing. She didn't ask why he wanted Dunkirk dead, an assassin never asked questions, they only finished what they had been hired for. 

"Were you followed?" The dark man said. His voice was hoarse; it sounded like he had a cold or soar throat. 

"No." 

"Good. Here is your pay, assassin." He tossed her a bag, coins clinking inside. She caught the bag and looked at it suspiciously. 

"Don't you want to have proof of whether or not he is indeed dead?" She asked. Most of her employers required her to show the blood-wet dagger. 

"I had spies at the party. They know." With this he walked away, into the night. She couldn't put her finger on it but something about the man was unsettling...he gave her the creeps, and she didn't get the creeps too often...

* * *

Alans Bay was silent. The cobblestone streets were empty, though she saw the occasional stray dog or cat running through the dark, trash-littered alleys and avenues. The air in this sprawling maze that they called a city was stale and old, musky if not quite pungent.

She felt uncomfortable here, she was born to dwell high in the mountains where the air was fresh and clean, and the smell of sap and pollen was heavy on the winds. She closed her eyes and imagined herself to be back among her brothers and sisters, in a land where the wildflowers were abundant and colorful, the aspen stands thick and tall. She caught a glance of the Glittering Sea in the space between two shops. The sun was just beginning to rise above the arc of the horizon, turning the rolling blue waves to a golden color that warmed her heart and settled her soul. There was nothing more comforting than the simplicity and beauty of nature, and while the glance of the great whale road lasted but a moment it helped her to move on. 

Aine's body ached. She had been traveling for nearly three weeks, leaving her home at the monastery of the Order of Kiran (AN: Kiran is a general term that refers to the belief in the Three Goddesses) high in the Rachla Mountains. The journey was long, and her pack wore heavy on her unconditioned shoulders. Her feet had become covered with angry red blisters that made every step painful but she did not falter, praying to her Three Mothers that they might see her safely to her destination...

And now she was here. She had dropped to her knees in rejoice when she came in view of the city gates, gave her thanks to Nayru, Farore, and Din. But now, as she walked down the quiet streets of this arcane place that she had never heard of she did not know what to do next. Perhaps her purpose here was to gather information about the Holy Stone whose whispers brought her to this place...?

The voices had come to her in her sleep, promising her that if she found the stone of legend she would discover her fate, discover why her Windmaster had banished her from the Wind Temple that day. "_You have evil in you, Aine." _Ravis had said, sitting atop his high seat in the great hall. _"A black seed blooms in your heart even now, an evil fingerprint of the Dark King. He has some kind of connection with you...he wants you to join him in the underworld and I have foreseen that you will become his servant, his slave for all eternity." _

Aine remembered how speechless she had been. Ravis had trained her to be a Wind Mage since she was a young child, had become her adoptive father when her own parents had been killed by a fist of those soldiers of the Dark King, those demons incarnate who were called the demi-humans. He had cared for her, had loved her, and now he was calling her evil?

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"I cannot allow the presence of evil to dwell in this place...you must leave, immediately." 

And then, she was thrust out into the world at the age of fourteen, left to fend for herself. She did not know what would have happened to her if she had not met the Monks of the Order in the village of Dalin below the Rachla ranges. If they had not agreed to take her in despite the apparent evil that dwelt within her heart she would most likely be dead. 

Two years had passed since then, and Ravis' words had never left her. They were always in her thoughts, tearing at her, ripping her apart. And now fate, it seemed, had spoken to her and given her a chance to find the Tear Stone. When she found it she would also find the answer to the questions that constantly plagued her...

"Hey, girlie." She heard a voice say. It came from a dark alleyway. She stopped and looked. Three men were lounging within the alley, their backs resting on the brick wall. They were sharing a pipe among them. They approached her, and she got a clear look at their faces. They were ragged men, with gaps in their teeth and scraps for clothing. Their hair was shaggy and unkempt. One of them had a long red scar across his face that suggested he had been involved in a knife fight. Aine sensed danger. 

"Strange to see a girl walking around so late at night...do you need directions somewhere?" The man with the scar said. 

Aine smiled. She realized they just wanted to help. "Yes, in fact. I was trying to find the best place to go to gather information. An inn perhaps." 

The man didn't seem to see her. He was looking at her ring, the ring that was a symbol of her rank as a Wind Mage. She could see the pristine white stone glinting in his bloodshot eye. "Give me the ring." The man said. 

It took her a moment to understand. "I'm sorry, this ring is very important to me..." She said. He pushed her, and one of the other men tried to grab her but she dodged out of the way. She wasn't strong, but she was small and fast. She tried to get away but they blocked her path and trapped her against a wall. Her heart beat furiously; she could hear it in her ears. 

There were monks in her order that could crush blocks with a clenched fist, could hit a man eight times in the space of three seconds. The Kiatan style of Marshall Arts was something taught for focus and discipline, for the defense of the helpless. She had learned only the rudimentary basics of self-defense, and she was unsure if that would be enough to help her against these men. They were broad shouldered, with arms corded in tight muscle. 

"Are you deaf?" The man said. "I said to give me the ring. Give it to me or I'll kill you!" When she didn't react he lost patience. He struck at her, aiming for her stomach with a big fist. Aine's knee shot up, deflected the blow. He struck at her again, this time at her head. She ducked, her legs spread out to maintain balance, her simple white dress fluttering in the wind. She shot two fingers upward and hit him in the center of his throat. It was _Quiah, _one of the three vulnerable pressure points on the human body. It didn't take much force but it was delivered perfectly, and the man clutched his throat in pain, falling to his knees and then blacking out. 

The other two looked at each other and then came at her in a fury, there eyes glowing with hate. She went into _Ulahe _form, the best stance for defense against a direct attack. The man threw a punch at her face and she dodged to the side and then shot forward, the side of her hand slamming into his left temple. It was _Iroh_, the most vulnerable of the pressure points. The man lost all equilibrium and ran himself head first into the brick wall that they had pinned her against. The last man paused in his flight toward her...and pulled out a long, serrated knife. Aine backed away. She had never learned the art of disarming an enemy. 

She realized that she might have no other choice but to use her wind magic. She had shunned it long ago, had refused to use any form of spellwork other than that of healing. The man walked toward her slowly, arrogantly, the knife held out before him. A sadistic smirk had spread across his face. Aine cleared her mind of all distractions, looked on the world from the mind's eye. The voice of Ravis echoed through her mind. "_You must see with your mind's eye, Aine. Your thoughts must be as clear as a polished mirror." _

When she closed her eyes the man saw the perfect opportunity. He ran at her, knife slashing. Aine stretched forth her hand and drew from within her heart the essence of wind. The spell she cast was simple, but it was enough to stop the man in his tracks and knock the knife from his hand. When he halted she thrust two fingers out and hit him in the middle of the sternum. The third pressure point, _Kihua. _She released her spell and he fell to the ground. 

She left them lying in the street, where they would awake in about fifteen minutes. The stars had been melted completely away and the sky began to fill with warm light. Aine liked how the rays of the sun made her face warm. 

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My journey is just beginning to rise as well. Who knows when it will set?


	4. Chapter 3

Cory gripped the sword tight, the soft leather of the hilt feeling comfortable in his calloused hands. He eyed Kavid warily. Usually, when they sparred, he could overcome the grizzled one-eyed blacksmith with superlative ease, but he seemed different today. It was obvious that he had trained hard for this day. His grip was more solid, his stance firmer, his eye as focused as it would be while he was pounding away at a hot iron sword blade with the hammer of his trade. Doubt began to spread through Cory's mind. 

They were atop Death Mountain's summit, way up high where the air was thin and cool. The massive sky was clear this day, and if he wasn't keeping his eyes focused on his opponent he would be able to see all the way into the Gerudo Waste, across the rolling plains and countless tree stands that made up Hyrule's heart. The Goron chieftains sat several paces away, cross-legged atop three boulders. They watched with a critical eye. They had trained both he and Kavid in the art of swordplay and today was the final test...whoever won would be bestowed the title of Strongsword, and given the ancient sword of legend that had been wielded by swordmasters for generations. 

The contest had been carried out for as long as there were Gorons but this contest was different, for this was the first time that two human swordsmen fought for the title. Sometimes there were human competitors, but the stronger Goron adversaries always overcame them. Whoever won this contest would make history. 

Kavid made the first move, coming at him with his sword held out. He swung his sword in a hard vertical strike aimed for the center of the head. Cory parried just in time. The swords were dulled tourney weapons but the strike still probably would have killed him. Steel rang, echoing downward. Cory pushed Kavid away and stepped backward, nearly slipping on the loose, pebble-strewn ground. It made for horrible footing, especially since the tread on the bottom of his fur covered boots had worn away long ago. Cory pushed a strand of his red hair away from his face and mentally cursed himself for not deciding to tie it behind his head today. 

He pressed the attack next, going at Kavid with a swift flurry of swings and strikes. Kavid managed to swat all of them away but Cory thought he had him on one particularly hard swing at his left leg. After his flurry Kavid struck back with continual vertical strikes, pounding away at Cory's sword blade with reckless abandon. At least he thought it was reckless abandon...until Kavid caught his hand hard and knocked the blade from his grasp. It clattered to the ground, several feet away. 

Cory jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding the blade. When Kavid swung low, aiming for his legs, Cory grabbed his shoulders and leaped over his head. When he landed he thrust his hands backward and found the cloth of Kavid's tunic. He pulled forward and flipped Kavid over his back. He hit the ground with a grunt and while he was struggling to get back up Cory was able to retrieve his sword and continue the fight. 

Kavid, more wary now, circled him more carefully. Cory did the same, his sword held out in front of him. Kavid was the first to strike and break the stand up. He went for an amazingly fast swing at his abdomen. Cory couldn't bring his sword up in time so he shot his leg up, blocking his abdomen. Kavid's sword clanged against the iron of his shin guard and as the blade bounced off he Cory saw the perfect opportunity. He ducked down low, shot forward past Kavid and caught him in the back of his calves with a fierce backhand swing. 

Kavid fell to the ground in a heap. Cory stood up and placed the edge of the sword on the blacksmith's neck. He had won. One of the Goron's clapped once, ending the fight officially. Cory stepped away and knelt, his head bowed down meekly. He may have one this fight but he knew that anyone of the three chieftains could decimate him if they wished. Respect must be given. It took Kavid a moment to get up and do the same. The chieftains approached. The closest one held the Sword of Darunia, pulsating with an eerie red glow. He could see the diamond that edged the great sword clearly, the same blue color as his eyes. The chieftain stood before him, placing the flat of the blade atop his sweaty head. 

"Cory Veroc I hereby name you Cory Strongsword and give you the gift of the Sword of Darunia. You will hereby be known as the Champion of the Gorons, the wielder of Din's light, the keeper of the Way of the Warrior."

Cory could hear his heart beating wildly in his ear. 

"Stand." The Goron said. Cory did as he was told. The chieftain pressed the hilt into his hand and clapped his shoulder. Each of the chieftains came and congratulated him in turn, and even Kavid had words of encouragement to give to the new Champion of the Gorons. One of the chieftains gifted him with a sword hilt specially sized for the glowing red sword. It was finely crafted, to be sure. It was leather, though covered by light red coyote fur to protect it from the elements. The chieftain told him that his wife had made it. Cory pulled the strap over his head and rested it on his broad shoulder, assuring the chieftain that he would thank his wife personally.   
  
Cory was overrun with his own humility. He felt that he was unworthy of such praise. Kavid and the other chieftains departed, but the chieftain who gave him the sword, Jubei, stayed with him and pulled him aside. 

"You must know, Cory, that life as the Champion of the Goron's is not an easy one. You will be called upon to help others, to represent the Gorons in your conquest against those whose goals are to destroy without mercy."

"I understand, Great Chieftain. If by my life or death I can serve you I will." Cory replied with all seriousness. 

"Do not serve me, young warrior. Serve the innocent; protect those who cannot protect themselves."   


Cory nodded in agreement. 


	5. Chapter 4

Several weeks passed. Cory became the talk of many, hailed as the first human Strongsword. He was visited and congratulated by many, even by Goron chieftains from tribes he had never heard of from different lands. Cory would be lying if he said that he did not enjoy his new found fame. But, as was the curse of the warrior, the passage of time without any action to get his blood running and adrenaline pumping weighed on his patience. He wanted desperately to test the Sword of Darunia in real combat, to wield his new sword with deadly precision, to protect the innocent and bring pain to those who would wish them harm. 

He would not have to wait long to fulfill his heart's desire. A message came to the Goron chieftains, a desperate message from the Zoran cave-city of Autlatia. It seemed that a hideous cave-troll had taken up residence in a dank lair outside the city. It would strike at night and feed on the hapless Zora's while they were floating above the water in a state of half-sleep. All of the Zoran warriors were away at war with the demi-human hordes of the South and all that remained in the cave-city were women, children and old folks. The Zoran Queen, Evara, requested the services of the new Swordmaster, whom she had also heard of. 

Cory was happy to oblige. And so, with the golden sun high in the sky among the clouds and the Sword of Darunia strapped to his back, Cory departed. He traveled without a horse, as the Goron's did. He set a steady jogging pace, pausing only to adjust his pack or sword hilt when it was needed. His route took him across Hyrule field, jogging alongside the rushing whitewater of the Zora river, hopping rocks and wading through waist deep grass shining green in the sun. 

The sun slowly made it's way westward and after a long day of travel the color of the sky transformed, melting into soft yellows and vibrant reds and oranges. Cory made camp that night under a weeping willow that grew alongside a slow spot in the river, gathering wood for a small fire. His meal was a rainbowfish caught with his bare hands when he stripped off his furs and waded into the river with a rumbling belly. He slept only little that night, excitement for the upcoming battle keeping him awake and attentive. 

The next morning he departed early, glad that he would reach his destination this day. The landscape slowly changed from rolling plain to dew-sprinkled forest. The leaves of the trees had taken on their fall colors, and the forest canopy was a banquet of red-orange flaring brightly in the sunlight. Cory weaved through the tree-stands effortlessly, fallen leaves crunching loudly under his boots. He gazed little at the beauty that surrounded him, intent only at the journey that lay ahead of him. 

He reached the entrance to Autlatia just short of midday, surprised that no Zoran sentries had heeded his intrusion within the borders of the Zora Empire. The entrance to the enormous network of caves was tall and wide, blocked by a golden gate that looked fragile with it's vine-leaf decorations and thin bars. Cory knew better though, for he had learned that this material was mithril, the strongest of the metals. There were archers stationed at the top of the gate, behind battlements carved directly into the face of the rock wall. Their bows were longer than the sentries were and Cory knew that their heads were tipped with the poison that came from the barbs of the Retla plant, which grew in abundance in the surrounding forests, beautiful but deadly. 

"Identify yourself, traveler." One of the sentry's called out, his arrow drawn. 

"I am Cory Strongsword, Champion of the Gorons. I come to rid your caves of the troll that haunts them under request of your queen." Cory answered quickly, not keen on finding a Zoran arrow in his chest. 

"Show us the Sword of Darunia and admittance to the cave-city of Autlatia will be yours." The sentry called. Cory did as he was told, and when the sentry's saw the tell-tale glow of the Sword of Legend the gate began to rise, smooth and swift and without a creak. 

When he entered the gate he found that he was faced with a set of stairs that descended into the darkness, so long that it's end was lost to his sight. The rock walls were lined with torches on both sides, sitting in brackets carved right out of the wall with excellent craftsmanship. One of the sentries, the one that addressed him from the battlement, met him at and adjoining staircase. 

"Welcome, Champion of the Gorons. I am Racht, Captain of the Guard." He said. He was a tall Zora, much more muscular than most Zora's he had met. He wore golden mithril armor and chainmail. His bow was replaced by a long spear, it's tip no doubt coated in the same poison as the arrow's. 

"Well met, Racht." He held out his hand and clasped hands with him, impressed by his strong grip. 

"Follow me, I will lead you to the city." He said, taking the lead and descending the staircase. Cory followed. 

They walked for a few moments in silence until Cory piped up and asked a question. "For what reason do you not have outriders to impede the entrance of invaders stumbling into Zoran territory? The only time I met resistance was when I approached the gates."

Racht gave him a narrowed-eyed look but answered nonetheless. "The war against the demi-humans has proven very costly. At first we had a full-force of Zoran outriders riding the borders of our land but as the campaign lengthened and the death-toll climbed Queen Evara had no choice but to send most of our sentry-force to the main host as reinforcement." He sighed and continued. 

"As I now speak there are seven active members of the sentry-force, most of them patrolling the city," He halted and clutched his spear-haft tightly, "If only my Queen would allow me to deal with this dirty troll who feeds upon our people...I can think of no other thing that would make my heart gladder," He started walking again, Cory in tow. "Alas, she sees my fellow guardsmen and I too valuable a commodity in these troubled times, and that is why we have no other choice but to have faith in your skills, warrior," He turned his head and looked into Cory's eyes, "Do not disappoint us." 

* * *

They descended along that spiraling staircase for sometime, the air becoming cooler as they traveled deeper. Soon Cory noticed that the walls changed. Glimmering across the wet-surface of the rock were tiny veins of the mithril that maintained the aquatic race, still in its original silver-colored form. 

It was the rock that provided the Zoran's their sustenance. They mined it and traded with other peoples. It provided a steady income that always kept the city coffers full, but now, with the onset of war, the trading routes were disrupted and the flow of finance into the Zoran kingdom had dwindled to a weak pulse. If the war did not end soon, the Zorans would find themselves on the brink of extinction. 

Soon the staircase ended and the cave opened up. Cory found himself gazing upon the city of Autlatia, his mouth gaping in insurmountable wonder. The city was golden and beautiful, the major buildings made mostly of mithril with golden gilt. The entire city surrounded an enormous pool in the center, and in the center of that was a huge palace, shaped like a beehive and surrounded by interconnecting spiral towers, spanned by arching bridges. Their tops were lost in the darkness above. Terraces ran down toward the central pool, many with houses built right into their walls. Everywhere there were waterfalls, falling from the heights of the cave and collecting in pools on each level of the terrace only to fall into another terrace, and another, until they finally ended in the central pool and misted around the palace. 

Seeing Cory's wonder at the city, Racht spoke. "Usually these pools would be filled with Zoran children. Splashing at each other, playing water games, having diving contests, seeing who can hold their breath underwater the longest. But no more, for the threat of the troll has driven all the children back to their homes where they wait in fear." 

Cory nodded. He hoped he could end that fear, forever. "I'll take you to the queen, she has some information to part to you before you set out. Heed her well, she is more wise than you could possibly know." Racht said. He pointed toward a nearby staircase that wound its way toward the central palace and told him to follow it to the palace. When Racht returned to his post at the gates Cory did what he was told. The staircase was lined with tall lampposts that had glowing white balls, giving light to the caves and radiating warmth. Cory followed it.

* * *

He reached the palace seeing nearly no Zora's. At one point he saw a gaunt-eyed male Zora sitting against the wall in an alley, his knees tucked under his chin, but once he heard Cory's footsteps he stood and quickly disappeared into the back alleys of the great cave-city. When he crossed the arching golden bridge that led to the main entrance of the palace he was greeted by two other sentries that blocked the tall double doors with the jagged golden blades of their spears. When they saw the Sword of Darunia on his back they allowed him admittance and gave him the directions to the throne room where the Queen currently resided. 

He had little trouble finding the said throne room. At one point he came across another sentry that was patrolling the golden hallways of the elegantly decorated palace who stopped him and questioned him. He let him continue on when he, too, saw the mystic blade. On route to the throne room he found his mouth falling open at examining the immense wealth that surrounded him. Golden vases, fine silk tapestries, beautiful carpets and mosaic's, murals depicting beautiful Zoran women bathing and washing clothes, or muscular Zoran men engaged in epic battles. One hallway was lined with arched nooks that held amazingly lifelike statues of ancient Zoran heroes, standing upright and tall with golden mithril spears in their hands and intent eyes that seemed to stare down at him as he walked. 

As the legends of old watched him pass he found himself pondering what his life would bring. _Will I be remembered as they are? Will statues be built in my honor? Will bards sing songs of my victories and heroic deeds? _

Cory was determined to make it so. The Gorons taught that there was no afterlife. The only way to achieve immortality was through story and song, tellings of your victories and heroism. At first the prospect had depressed Cory. He had been taught by his human parents that after life you lived in the heavens forever with the Goddesses. He had always believed it, had taken the fact that he would always hear his own thoughts and walk on his own legs for granted. The thought of no longer existing terrified him. 

The Gorons had taught him that to fear death was to live a lesser life and thus waste the spark of existence that had been given him by the Goddesses. _"Drink and be merry for tomorrow we die." _Jubei had told him, during his first lesson in the Way of the Warrior when he was only a boy. _"Do not fear death, young one. Stare it in the face and laugh at it with all your might. Show it that it cannot frighten you and prevent you from living a fulfilling life rich with beer and battle and women. _

"Heed my words, young one. A lighting-bolt is here and gone in the blink of an eye, but while it lives it lights the sky with white fire and makes the earth tremble at its approach. And the best lighting bolts, those that are greatest, ignite the trees and set wildfires that spread across the land and may never stop spreading until the end of time. Live the life of a great hero and let your legend spread like wildfire, wildfire caused by something that lasted but a moment..."

Authors Note: I apologize for the abrupt ending of this chapter but it was starting to get a little too long, and I know as well as you that sitting at your computer and reading for hours is not very fun. I will pick up the next chapter with the introduction of a new character and the battle with the Troll. 


	6. Chapter 5

Cory found the throne room within only a minute of wandering. All the hallways led to the huge circular room, so it had doorways all around it's circumference. In between the doorways were marble plinths and atop those statues of former rulers. These, unlike those he had seen while on route to the throne room, were covered in golden gilt and encrusted with jewels of varying sorts. The throne itself was positioned in the exact center of the room, just below the circular pinnacle of the beehive-like dome. Mid way up the dome was a railed platform that circled around, opening up in the places where the bridges spanned the distance between the outer towers and the main hall. A spiraling staircase at the back of the huge room led to the upper level. 

A red carpet led to the throne, where the queen sat with straight-backed dignity and eyes that were always analyzing. Two guards stood on either side of her with long steel battle-axes and shining golden armor. They were probably the hugest Zora's he had ever seen. Most of the aquatic people were slight but these were more heavily muscled than he was, with a hard eyes and square jaws. The queens personal guard, no doubt. 

The queen herself was the very epitome of dignity and beauty. Her eyes were blue and piercing, her cheekbones high and her face shaped like a heart. Her body, from what he could see beneath the billowing silken folds of her gown, was firm and young. 

Cory approached the throne and went to one knee, his head bowed. Evara was not his queen, but he felt it a crime not to bow to such a enchanting and regal Zora. He stayed in that position for a long moment, until the queen deigned to speak. 

"You are the Champion of the Gorons?" She asked. Her voice was musical and womanly, firm but gentle at the same time. 

"I am, Your Grace." Cory replied. 

Evara weighed him for a moment, as if trying to decide if he was worthy enough to serve her. She looked to each of her enormous guards in turn. "Eaden, Aaden, test him." She said, her tone brooking no argument. The guards closed as one, their battle-axes raised in their huge arms. 

"Your Grace, I don't understand--" 

"I suggest you draw your sword," She said, her voice stopping what he was about to say in its tracks. "They are quite deft with those weapons." 

Cory saw the truth of that as one of them raised the axe over his head and brought it down with such force that it would have cleaved him clean in two if he hadn't of jumped to his feet and rolled out of the way at the last second. The blade of the huge axe glanced of the marble floor, leaving a huge fissure and sending glimmering sparks into the air. That was when Cory realized they weren't faking. 

He took the fur-covered scabbard of his back and drew the Sword of Darunia, throwing it asunder as he held the blade in his hand. It was a hand and a half sword, so called because it could be used for both two handed and one handed strikes. It was no match against the huge battleaxes of Eaden and Aaden. 

The only chance he had would be to divide and conquer, the most fundamental tactic of any swordsman. He analyzed his opponents. They were both heavily armored, with half-helms that had long nose guards. They wore heavy breastplates that his sword wouldn't be able to penetrate. Greaves protected their shins. He couldn't go right at them, they were too strong. But he was fast, and confident that he could avoid the sweeping blades if he was focused enough. He would have to get in close aim for the joints between their armor. 

He danced around his opponents. Their eyes held no emotion, and they were intent only on him. _Their eyes..._An idea sparked in his mind. He charged, ducking under a sweeping axe and sliding in between the huge legs of the first Zora. When faced with his broad back he jumped on him and grabbed his half helm, wrenching it to the side and blinding him. The bodyguard tried to grab him with his free hand but he couldn't reach. He tried to straighten his helm but Cory held it firm. 

He looked behind him, seeing the other Zora charging toward him and his companion. His axe was raised, and just as he was about to swing at Cory's back he hurdled over the blind Zora and rolled to the ground in front of him. The battle-axe clanged against the back of the huge Zora, steel and mithril met in a gout of sparks, and the head of the steel battle-axe shattered, sending deadly shrapnel airborne. One of the pieces raked against his forehead and blood began to stream down his face, dripping onto the marble floor. The blind Zora fell to the ground, and when his head banged against the ground it must of rendered him unconscious, for he lay still. There was a great slash in the mithril of the Zora's armor but it hadn't penetrated, just as Cory expected. Mithril was as hard as dragon scales. 

The remaining Zora threw what was left of his weapon to the side and approached him with no weapon but huge fists that could no doubt crush his head. The blood flowed over his eyes and everything around him took on a crimson hue. He was becoming lightheaded from the blood, but he stood to meet the approaching Zora. 

"Enough, Aaden. He has proven himself." The queen's voice said, though it seemed that it came from the other side of a long tunnel. Aaden went to one knee and bowed his head. Cory had no trouble doing so himself. 

"Kara, would you kindly see to his wound?" Evara said. Through the crimson waterfall he saw a woman approaching him. She wasn't a Zora. Her pointed ears identified her as elven, along with the graceful way in which she walked. Her hair was dark, a rare thing among the elf-people. 

"I'll need Aaden's help to get him to the infirmary. This will need to be sewn up, it is quite the gash." The she-elf said, her navy blue eyes appraising the cut in his head. 

"I can walk on my own." Cory said, but it didn't come out that way. It was slurred.

"Fine, but you'll die long before you make it. I care not either way." The woman said. Her voice almost sounded bored. He heard Evara say something, but he didn't know what. He felt his body being lifted and the last thing he remembered was the marble floor moving beneath him, his blood leaving a trail. Then everything went black. 

* * *

He awoke in a dark, cool room. He was atop a soft white bed and his shirt, furs and boots had been taken off. He felt his forehead and found that it was bandaged where his gash had been. Under the bandage he felt a long line of stitches. His skull felt heavy, and when he made to rise pain sliced through his head and he almost lost consciousness again. The room was small and simple with only the bed, a chair by the wooden door, and a washbasin on the other side of his room. After splashing his face with water from the basin he began looking for his things. His sword was hanging on the back of the chair and folded on the seat were new clothes, far cleaner and better smelling than his old clothing. His fur boots had been replaced by heavy leather ones, his musky furs by a thin black coat that was tight fitting and fell to just above his knees, so as not to impede him during battle. It was fox fur he believed, died black. There were new breaches also, and a leather belt to cinch them. 

It felt odd to dress in such fine clothing but he did so anyway. There was no shirt, but the coat was heavy enough that when cinched with the belt it provided all the warmth he would ever need. He was strapping the Sword of Darunia to his back when there came a knock on the door. Cory opened the door to be confronted with the same beautiful she-elf that he had seen in the throne room before he had blacked out. 

She was wearing a blue dress, tight in the bodice and flowing below, with slits on either side for easy horse riding. Her dark brown hair was tied behind her head, with the occasional small braid here and there. Her face was as fair as they came, but her navy blue eyes seemed tired and uncaring. It surprised Cory to see that she had both a bow and a quiver of arrows tied to her back and a long curving knife on her belt. The bow and arrows were of Zoran make but the knife looked elvish with its long, sinuous design. 

She appraised him. "You look halfway human without those smelly old furs." She said, her voice sounding bored again. 

Cory was surprised by the abruptness of her speech. He had been taught the Goron way; females were to be seen, not heard. 

"What do you want?" Cory asked with disdain in his voice. He didn't like this she-elf's manner. 

"I am sent by the queen to accompany you to the lair and help you slay the beast. Come quickly, the quicker we finish this task, the quicker we can be rid of each other." She replied. She walked away then, seeming not to care whether or not he followed. 

Cory hurried behind, feeling his anger rising. "What makes you think I need your help?" He demanded. 

"I said quite the same to the Queen of you," she said without slowing, "but she doesn't want to take any risks. Hurry now, there is killing to be done." 

"Who _are _you?" He asked. 

"My name is Kara. That is the only thing you need to know of me, that and the fact that I know how to kill and how to avoid being killed." 

* * *

And so it was that Cory found himself exploring the high, outer reaches of the enormous cave with torch in hand, searching for the lair of a troll with the most unfriendly person he had ever met. She spoke little, and when she did it was only terse commands like "Point the torch up there," or "Look down here". 

The outer reaches of the cave were a maddening maze of jagged rocks and rounded boulders slick with lichens of every color imaginable. There was a constant _drip, drip, drip_ from the stalactites that were sharp and imposing hanging on their outthrusts of rock. Kara turned out to be far more agile than he as she leapt from rock to rock with her long legs. She was always upright, when at times he was on all fours trying to scramble up a rock embankment or boulder. 

At times she would pause to sniff the air, as if she were trying to hunt the troll with her nose. She always had her hand clutching the hilt of the elven knife, which seemed perfectly sized for her hand. For the most part he let her lead, because her eyesight was far better than his and she always picked the most hospitable route across the perilous rocks. 

About two hours or so into her wandering the elf stopped in her tracks. Cory was looking at his feet as he walked to prevent himself from slipping, so he ran right into her. She halted him with an outthrust arm, turned her head and put her finger to her lips to signal him to be quiet. 

She sniffed the air, and her face went sour. Cory sniffed the air himself and it took a moment for him to smell what she was smelling. It was the most rancid scent he had ever come across. It was a nauseating mix of rotten eggs, dung, and sweat. Kara walked to the left, climbed a boulder and went to her knees at the top, looking down. Cory climbed the boulder and looked down to see a pit with a large hole in the center that led down. All around the hole were the remnants of the Zora's the troll had eaten. There were skulls, and hands, and here and their a rib cage. 

From the hole came a ghastly mix of sounds. Grunting, and the crunch of bone, and the wet sounds of flesh being devoured. Kara took the fine bow from her back and nocked a Zoran arrow. She descended the slope, and Cory followed with the sword in one hand and the torch in the other. Kara looked cautiously over the edge of the hole, and motioned for him to follow as she leapt down. Cory waited until she cleared the hole at the bottom before he leaped down. 

* * * 

He found himself in a medium sized cave. The place where they dropped down was behind a line of natural rock pillars and arches. Kara was looking out into the opening of the cave, where a small fire crackled and filled the place with eerie, flickering light. Cory looked around the side of the pillar alongside Kara and saw his quarry. 

The troll had its back to them, chewing on a severed Zoran arm. It was a river troll, he could tell by its slender, gangly build. Its cousin the mountain troll was larger and more powerful, and far less intelligent. At its side was a long spear, sharp and serrated with fresh bloodstains all along its cruel edge. Zoran skin served as a grip for the deadly weapon. 

Kara looked at him. "You distract him. I will wait in the shadows with an arrow nocked. All I need is a clear shot at the throat, its most vulnerable area. Can you provide that, Strongsword?" Her voice still sounded bored, but when she pronounced his title there was a hint of sarcasm. 

Cory didn't respond. Instead he left the shadows and approached the beast with as much boldness as he could muster. The troll didn't know he was there until he nailed it in the back of the head with his torch. It roared in pain and twisted around with fury in it's eyes. It tried to bludgeon him with the Zoran arm, but Cory dodged and responded with a hard vertical strike from his sword. The red metal bit into the troll's hand and cut of two of its fingers. The beast roared again and took up the spear thrusting it forward with the strength of five men. It would have taken him in the chest and skewered him if he didn't parry with his sword, pushing the thrust away and to the left. 

The troll stumbled forward, the momentum of the spear thrust causing it to lose it's balance. Cory took this opportunity to throw the torch to the side and hamstring the creature with a brutal, two-handed slash from the glowing red sword. 

It was when the beast reared it's head up to roar that Kara was greeted with a wonderfully clear shot at the throat. The Zoran arrow impacted exactly where it was meant to, puncturing skin and flesh. The beast stumbled, and for a few moments resisted death. And then the poison of the Retla plant entered the bloodstream, causing paralysis followed closely by death. The troll collapsed in a heap. 


	7. Chapter 6

The sun was low. The western sky was ablaze with a dark crimson, slowly fading to a light purple. In the east, the sky was dark already with sparkling stars beginning to wink into existence. Nayru's Dew, as his brothers called them. They were gifts from the goddesses, guardians of light to ward of the cold loneliness of the dark. They watched vigilantly from their place in the vast firmament. In the south a dark mass of heavy storm clouds dominated the sky, lanced by silvery threads of lightning. A warm southerly breeze brought with it the smell of rain, stark and earthy. Thunder rolled across the plains and the mountains, the forests and the streams. 

Allar paid no attention to the oncoming storm, however. He sat cross-legged under a willow tree on top of a green hillock, the long grass a wall around him. His back was as straight as a fence post and his eyes were closed. He was deep in meditation, one with the world. He could hear a grasshopper chirping, an Elk bugling into the wind, a fox digging a burrow. He could feel the sadness of a woman who had just lost her husband, the excitement of a man who was hot on the trail of a boar, the happiness of two boys swatting at each other with wooden swords. He could feel everything, every sound and every taste and every smell. 

But what was this? Something, barely perceptible, very distant yet very..._cold. _He had never felt something so cold before. It brooded and waited and thoughts of revenge and hatred rushed through its mind. Such anger...such raw fury. And then it was gone, as quickly as it had come. And then the vision came, of a blue stone glowing and pulsating with warmth and power. If what he had felt before was cold, this was as hot as a sword blade taken from the forge.... And then his eyes opened and his feelings and thoughts were once again his own. 

He stood from his position on the ground and swept the dust from his baggy white pants. The storm was closer now, and he needed to find shelter before dusk gave way to night. He gathered up his pack and his staff and made his way through the long grass and down the gentle slope. There was a village about three miles ahead, a traveler on the road had told him. He hoped he would find a monastery there, he had no wish to stay in an inn again. Inns were too crowded, filled with raucous laughter and drunken revelry. In a monastery of his order he could find peace to practice his martial arts and study his psalms. And above all he could contemplate the task that had been set before him. 

He had been traveling for four weeks. He had departed his home of 22 years under orders from the Grand Priest: Retrieve Nayru's Tear and protect it from those evil ones who wished to use its power to bring back the evil one, who's name shall not be spoken. He had accepted the task graciously, anxious to protect the Tear in the name of the Goddesses, the mothers of the earth. They had granted him the vision of the stone that he must find, as they did everyday during his meditations. 

He had been chosen because of his adeptness in the Kiatan style of Martial Arts. He had devoted fifteen years of his life mastering the style, becoming one with his inner spirit. He could wield a quarterstaff or sword with deadly precision, and focus his body and spirit in such away that he could feel no pain. And during the time of his training he had come to love his Three Mothers above all else, with all his might and mind and spirit. He had learned their teachings, and devoted himself to the cause of serving them. And in his servitude he had learned wisdom, and humility, and love for all living things that breathed and grew and felt. He was content. 

The trail to the village gradually left the greenery of the deep vales between the snow-crowned peaks and wound its way upward along a rocky ridge. Allar jogged along the winding trail tirelessly, taking advantage of the failing light to admire the beauty around him. He was within the Rachla mountain range, surrounded by tall jagged peaks that took on the dull reddish color of the sunset. The trail was rough, but his legs were experienced and he hopped and weaved around rocks and other obstructions almost mindlessly.   


He came within sight of the village just as night's embrace was nearly complete. It sat in a saddle between two high peaks, hard against the side of a rushing stream that wound downward and fell in misty waterfalls where there were steep drops. Golden lights spread all about, marking the houses and buildings. Allar made his way down the trail to the village. 

It was called Härnöhamn, if the hand painted sign at the gate was true. It was small, smaller than it looked from up high. There was but one small, wheel-rutted road that ran through it, though some smaller trails broke away to houses that were on a higher level than the road. Most of the villagers were warm and snug in their homes, perhaps sitting by the fire and listening to fairy-tales, or enjoying dinner with family and friends. He did come across some that wandered through the streets. He saw one man pushing a cart full of bread, and another driving a dozen sheep into a pen. They were a tall, fair-haired people, probably with Calatian blood. He must have looked quite strange to them, being a slender monk with a bald head. 

He inquired if there was a monastery here, and wasn't surprised to learn that there was not. He was shown the way to a small inn, however. It was by the side of the rushing stream, beside a rope bridge that spanned the cold water. A water wheel stretched out into the stream, turning and creaking as the fast current caught it. It was in good order, with new thatch on the roof and whitewashed walls. Merry music drifted from the common room, a flute and perhaps a harp.

He entered to find the place almost full, though only a few of the patrons looked to be travelers. Pipe smoke was heavy in the air, and the only light came from three torches along the wall and the blazing fireplace. The rest were villagers that had come to the inn for a cup of ale and good song. The innkeeper was a thickset woman with black hair, held back with a tight bun. 

She looked at him queerly. "I'll wager that you are one o' them Kiran monks?" It was more of a statement than a question really, but Allar nodded anyway. 

"You'll get a room, but I feel it be my duty to warn you. People in this village still worship the old gods. They'll not take kindly to your sort."

Allar sighed. Acceptance was a heavy cup to drink from, and most people in this world would rather go thirsty and hold tight to their spite than swallow something new. "I plan to stay only one night." He said.

"Best that way. I want no trouble under my roof, if you have a hunger I'll send a meal to your room. Best not be seen in the common room." 

Allar nodded with sullen agreement. He tossed the woman a silver and let her lead him to his room. It was modest and small, but still much larger than his room had been back in the monastery. He found great relief when he took of the heavy pack and sat down on the bed. Allar was pleasantly surprised to find that the plush mattress on the bed was stuffed not with straw, but feathers. He could hear the stream through the walls, rushing ever downward. A small circular window looked out on the water wheel, casting shifting shadows into the room with each turn. 

A honey-haired servant came soon after the innkeeper left. She didn't answer when he greeted her, swiftly going about her business of starting a fire in the stove underneath the bed. It would keep him warm on this cold night. He tried to thank her, but again she paid him no heed, leaving as abruptly as she came. 

His dinner came not long after. The platter was laden with more food than he could ever eat in one helping. A roast duck, a freshly caught trout, three kinds of cheeses, a large piece of flat bread, a steaming hot baked potato with butter and garlic, and a cup of ale to wash it down. He ate no more than half of the great feast, and wrapped what he didn't eat in cloth so that he could finish it on the road. 

With his belly full and his body warmed by the stove he lit the lamp that sat on the table near his bed and took the heavy, leather-bound book of psalms out of his pack. He sat and read for nearly two hours before he found that his eyes were too weary to go on. Sleep came to him quickly, and he basked in the undreaming stupor deep into the night, until he was awoken by sounds coming from the other side of the door. 

He could hear a man and a woman's voice, and the shuffle of feet, and the sound of a struggle. He stood from his bed and found his shirt folded on the table by the lamp, he slipped it on and went to investigate. The sounds came from down the hall, where a big man was trying to push a woman into one of the rooms. The woman was trying to get away, but the man blocked any escape with his broad shoulders and big arms. 

"What's the matter, woman? Don't you want this? I've seen the looks you have been givin' me all night. I know when a woman wants me." His voice was a drunken slur. 

The woman was the servant who had kindled his fire earlier that night. Her eyes were wide with desperation and fear. Allar needed no more provocation. 

When he touched the man's shoulder he whirled around. "What do you want, monk? Mind your business." He shoved him, hard, but Allar staggered back without losing his feet. 

"Leave the woman alone." Allar said. 

This infuriated the man even more. "Do you know who you're dealin' with, monk?" He drew himself up proudly, pounding his chest with his meaty fist. "I am Ægir, son of Æthir. No one tells me what to do!" 

"I have no wish to fight you. Just leave the woman be, she is terrified." Allar said. The woman had pressed herself against the wall, watching with wide eyes. 

"Fight _me_? Don't think your Three Whores can protect you from the fury of Ægir! My god is Rügar, Lord of War and Plunder. I strike with all his strength and fury!"

Even after suffering the profane title the man had given the Three Goddesses Allar didn't attack. He would not be the aggressor, and it turned out that he didn't have to be. The man directed a wild punch at Allar's face, with as much force as he could muster. But the man was drunk, and drunkenness hindered accuracy.   


Allar crouched into the defense position of _Ulahe_, and caught the man's wrist. As swiftly as a strike of lightning he directed a clenched fist hard into _Kihua_ on the man's sternum. The man gasped as the wind from his lungs escaped from his chest. Not half a second after the first blow landed Allar's upturned palm took him hard in the nose. The bone cracked and the blood escaped in gouts. That was enough. Allar released the man's wrist and he fell to the ground, moaning in pain. 

Allar crouched beside the man and blocked his nose with his palm, halting the flow of blood. He did not want the man to bleed to death. Perhaps this experience could humble him. He looked up at the woman, whose face was a mix of shock, disbelief, and relief at the same time. "Go fetch a linen cloth, if you would." He said. 

The woman rushed away, stepping over the crumpled body of Ægir. She was well on her way down the hall before she hesitated, turned around, and looked at him. "Thank you." She said before continuing on. 

Allar smiled. 

Perhaps someone had taken a sip of the acceptance cup and found that she liked the taste. 


	8. Chapter 7

Glazyre was in no fair mood. His head was pounding, and his stomach was an empty void that hadn't received food in days. That was the way of a thief. One day you could have everything; gold, a nice carriage, a dutiful servant. You could have all of this, and then the next day you could lose all of it and be as poor as a pauper once more. In his case he had lost the carriage and clothes betting, the gold whoring, and the servant quarreling. It was amazing really. Just two nights past he had all of this, plus a sexy woman seeming totally willing to take him into her bed. And look at him now. 

He wandered the allies of Alans Bay, searching for an open window or drunken patron that could easily be relieved of his purse. Unfortunately he was finding none of these, and the dawn swiftly approached, robbing him of any opportunity to...rob. He had a silver penny and a couple of coppers, just enough to buy him a small breakfast, so he searched for a proper-looking inn with not too many scummy bottom feeders and not too many up nosed nobles, both of which Alans Bay had a vast number of. 

He found just the right inn as the golden light of the sunrise crept across the sky, heralding a new day. The Inn was called The Dragon's Fire, bordering a wide boulevard and a vast plaza with a fountain in the middle. The inn was mostly empty, with only a small group of patrons. One man was dozing by the fire, another ravenously devouring a chicken leg. There was also a young woman, plain-faced and dressed in a simple white dress, looking like she was extremely confused and very lost.   


He was inexplicably drawn to her. He told himself that it was because she seemed vulnerable and ripe for the conning, but it felt like something else. She had warmth to her, directly in odds with the cold block of ice that had become his heart. He shirked away the feeling and asked the innkeeper, standing behind a counter next to the door, when breakfast was going to be served. She looked at him with bags under her eyes and told him it would be another forty minutes. Glazyre decided he would wait, and took a seat across from the young woman after giving the last of his coin to the woman. 

She looked at him curiously but he just ignored her, leaning back with his eyes closed. He hadn't slept in a good while, and wasn't foolish enough to rest on the streets. Gradually the common room began to fill as patrons came down from their rooms and took seats as they waited for their breakfast. He spotted a few travelers from Merr, red-haired like him, and some shepherd folk from up in the highlands, blue-eyed and fair-haired. The smells of bacon and eggs drifted from the kitchen, behind a swinging door on the opposite side of the room. 

In due time the plates began to come out, and when he got his he dug in and devoured it, having no concern for table manners. The common room was very full now, and the tables were becoming crowded. That was when the trouble started. A Merrish merchant came down the stairs, dressed in fine robes of fine velvet and golden silk that didn't hide his enormous gut. He was swathed in golden jewelry and walked with a sort of smug grace, looking down his nose at the people eating and sneering at them. Two large mercenaries backed him with iron cudgels on their belts. 

The fat merchant approached his table and gave him a self-important smirk.   
  
"You seem to be sitting at my table, braggart." He said, in a laughably fake Elven accent. 

"It seems to me that I was here first." Glazyre said, not ready to give up his seat to a chubby ball of fat and silk. 

The merchant snorted and reached into the purse at his belt, dropping a silver mark on the table. "This should be to your approval. Now take your silver and go. Perhaps it will buy you some better clothes." 

That was too much for Glazyre. Normally he would have taken the silver and gone but his pride was too injured after the woman from two nights before had abandoned him, and he had to keep whatever he had left. "I'll leave this table the day that you lose that blubber, which doesn't seem to be anytime soon. Get lost." Glazyre said. 

The fat merchant glared at him, his face growing red. "I should have my men humble you, thrice-damned whoreson!" He shouted. 

"I'll agree that my mother was a dirty whore, but I'll not agree that your livestock will humble me." He said. 

The merchant looked at the two mercenaries and they approached him, cudgels drawn. With lightning fast speed Glazyre kicked the table at them, sending his breakfast flying and the men falling. He shot forward, drew a knife, grabbed the merchant from behind and pressed the sharp blade to the man's fat white jowls. 

The inn had gone quiet as they watched the seen unfolding before them. A small trickle of crimson blood fell from the merchant's neck, and he screamed like a maiden and pissed himself. Glazyre edged his feet away from the yellow puddle at the man's feet. The mercenaries made to approach but he pressed the blade up higher and they stopped. 

"Not one more step, or your fat employer will find himself roasting in the fires of hell." Glazyre said, as he backed toward the door. The merchant whimpered, tears falling down his cheeks. Suddenly some force seized his blade and threw it across the room, clanging against the wall. He felt himself being lifted and pushed back against the wall by some invisible aggressor, unable to move his limbs, as helpless as a newborn babe. The merchant stumbled forward to the protection of his mercenaries. 

In the corner of the room he saw the white-dressed woman with her hands outstretched and her eyes focused on him. He didn't know how, but he knew that the force that held him immobile came from her. She was probably a wind mage, though she was curiously dressed for one such. 

The force released him and he dropped to the floor stumbling. The merchant's mercenaries approached him with their cudgels drawn and he ran out the door and into the street, not ready to face the heavily muscled men with their clubs. He could hear the men chase him, but he was a swift runner and sprinted down the road, looking behind him for pursuit. He would later curse his recklessness. He ran straight into a city guard, stumbling to the cobbled ground. The fat merchant came puffing up with his men. 

"That man tried to kill me! I demand that he be arrested!" The merchant screamed, his voice cracking like an adolescent boy. The merchant grabbed his arm. 

"Tis true! I saw it with my own eyes!" The inn keep said as she stumbled out of "The Dragon's Fire" and pointed at him with an accusing finger. _Curse the ugly bag!_ Glazyre thought, glaring at her. The young mage who had caused this all in the first place came out of the inn, looking at him curiously. Another city guard appeared from an adjoining street and helped the other drag him off to the jail, which turned out to be in a decrepit, fish-smelling part of the city. 

They threw him in a cell with rusted iron bars and straw that smelled of piss and was most definitely full of lice, and plague carrying lice if the luck he was having this day held. And so it was that he found himself sitting against the rock wall, cursing everyone that ever did him wrong. His parents, the irascible woman from the ball, the fat merchant and his two sellswords, the plain-faced mage that made his escape impossible, the dead-eyed city guard that he had run into. _Damn the all to the deepest, most fiery hell!_

* * *

Aine's attempt to question people walking the streets about where the city jail was proved fruitless. Some would curse her with some profane title; Most would simply ignore her as if she were no more than a bug. _People here are so disagreeable. _Aine thought, wishing that she could be back home where people actually cared. Aine found herself wondering if anyone here had read the psalms of the Three in their entire life. Eventually she found a helpful city guard that showed her the way, but even when he did it was only because it was his duty, not out of the kindness of his heart. 

She sought the prison in search of the man she had encountered in the inn. She remembered watching in horror as the blood began to run from the merchant's neck where the knife was held, ready to take his life with the flick of a wrist. He was innocent, so it was her duty to save him. And that was why she used her magic to push the tall, slender knife-wielder against the wall and out of striking distance.   


She didn't know just why she was going out of her way to find this man. She just had a feeling about him, something that drew her toward him. Perhaps he had a part to play yet in her destiny and that of the world. The Goddesses gave messages to those who were faithful. They didn't come as words. They came in the form of a warming in the bosom, or a shivering of the body. She felt both as she asked the guard in the front room of the prison if she could see the knife-wielder. She gave him a broad description; red haired, green eyed, tall and slender. 

The guard led her to a fowl smelling cell in the basement, where she found the knife-wielder curled up in a corner on the other side of the rusty iron bars. "You have five minutes." The guard told her curtly, leaving her at the cell. 

"Have you come here to mock me?" The knife-wielder asked hoarsely, glaring at her under his eyebrows. 

"Of course not." She said. She couldn't tell him why she actually did come because she didn't truly know. 

A long pause came. She didn't know what to say, she had come here based on feelings alone. Finally the knife-wielder spoke; "I could have escaped if it weren't for you. I was three feet away from the door." 

"I couldn't let you hurt that man." She said. 

"I had no intention of hurting him! He was a fat, blathering fool with too high a view of himself. It would be an insult for me to kill one such as him. Even thieves have honor!" He shouted with great anger. 

"I could not read your true intentions, only the Goddesses can judge what one feels or thinks. I just didn't want to take the chance of someone's blood being spilled." She said. 

The knife-wielder laughed and then said bitterly, "Ignorant fool! They will take my head at dawn and with it profuse amount of my blood. So much for that!" 

"But your crime does not merit an execution. How could that be?" Aine replied. 

"You really don't know anything, do you?" He sat up and walked to the bars, "I'll wager that your precious merchant is friends with the City's Magistrate. One offhand whisper in the ear and I could have been beheaded for stealing bread, or pissing on the promenade! Pride is why I will die tomorrow, foolish girl." 

Aine found that hard to believe. How could a world created by the Goddesses be so unjust? She found herself believing him, however. There was something about his demeanor that told of experience, like all traces of the naivety that he once might have had were now gone. _I am naive. _Aine realized. She was just as foolish and dumb as the man said. How could she expect to find the Tear Stone with in a world so strange and unfamiliar to her? 

Then she knew why she had been drawn here. The Goddesses knew this about her, knew that she would need help to find Nayru's Tear. And so they had sent her this man. 

"If I release you will you help me?" She asked. 

The man looked at her as if she were a brainless twit. "How could you possibly get me out of here? That guard won't let me out if you tell him that the Goddesses will damn him to eternal damnation if he doesn't!" 

"Answer my question. Will you help me?" She asked again, simultaneously drawing on the magic within her. 

"Yes, but I don't see how you can possibly--" Aine sent a gust of wind at the door, and it slammed off its hinges and clattered to the floor. 

The man stepped back, awe-struck. From upstairs came the guard's shout, and she could hear him running down the stairs toward the cell. "Come, quickly!" She shouted with a motion of her hand. He did so, hiding on one side of the door as she hid on the other. 

The guard came running through the doorway and slammed right into a wall of wind. It threw him back and he crashed against the wall, slumping to the ground. He was knocked cold, but Aine hoped that she had done no more damage than that. They both rushed out the door and Aine ran up the stairs but halted as the man stopped and checked the guard. 

"What are you doing! We must make haste!" She shouted. Her heart was beating furiously. 

"One moment." He said, with a cool calm tone. He found what he was searching, a leather belt with an array of sharp-looking throwing knives, and they were on their way. Two more guards at the top of the stairs confronted them. She was able to bind one with her magic, but the other squeezed passed and raced toward the knife-wielder with sword raised. 

Not wanting either the knife-wielder or the guard to be killed she slipped her leg out in front of him and sent him tumbling down the stairs. The knife-wielder was able to jump up before the guard bowled into his legs, showing amazing agility and speed. _He would be a worthy Kiatan warrior. _Aine thought. 

With the two guards dispatched they made their way into the streets and disappeared into the maze of streets that was Alans Bay. They ran for a long time, the knife-wielder leading until he finally deemed it safe for them to stop and catch their breath. 

"We will need to find disguises and leave this city as soon as possible. To where is up to you. You still haven't told me why you need my help." The knife-wielder said as he leaned up against a wall and caught his breath. 

"I am in search of a certain stone. When we find it I will consider your debt paid." Aine replied, breathing hard. "My name is Aine." She said, holding out her hand.

The knife-wielder looked at her hand but did not take it. "My name is Glazyre. Let us move on." 

Aine began to walk away, heading northward toward the city gate. Glazyre stopped her.

"You have given me my life and for that I am forever grateful. Thank you." 


	9. Chapter 8

Takiya looked out across Alans Bay from her post atop the colonnaded white balcony. The city was quiet in this hour before dawn, almost serene in its sleep. The ocean--white with the illumination of the full moon-- rolled in and out endlessly, its breakers crashing against the seawall with chilling booms. A ponderous night breeze, cool and smelling of salt, caused her wispy white night gown and raven black hair to flutter in the wind. The cold from the marble in the balcony rose up into her bare feet, causing her to shiver. 

It was a beautiful sight, this sleeping city. It reminded her of unburdened times as a child when she was full of wonder and the world was one big fairytale where nothing bad happened and everyone was content. She missed the simple pleasures that came from digging her feet into the warm soil of her mother's garden, or playing in the pebble-strewn brook that wound its way through the glade that bordered her father's manse. 

But those times were gone, they left her the day that her parents died on the shores of Lake Hylia, murdered and stripped of all their belongings. All of her happiness left her that day, and when Tigrin--her hate, her love, her teacher, her student--died all of her sorrow left her as well. Now all she had was killing. 

Tigrin had told her once that whenever their came a time came that she could kill without remorse or guilt it was time to find a new profession. She could have sworn that when her knifepoint found fat Dunkirk in the throat she had almost..._enjoyed _it. No, she _had _enjoyed it, and it scared her to death. 

Takiya ushered the thoughts from her mind with anger. She must remain focused. Her current employer, a fat merchant named Thravius, had given her the convenience of his massive palace on in the Royal Quarter just so that she could stalk her next quarry with better ease. She was to find a "braggart" who had disgraced Thravius in an inn. He had escaped the city jail before he could be executed, but Thravius still demanded vengeance. All she had to go on was his description and that of his accomplice, a plain-faced woman with a white dress. 

So far she had searched without success and now she was convinced that they had left the city. Today she planned to throw their descriptions passed the guards at each gate. It was a long shot, but if she were lucky she would discover the general direction that they were headed and continue from there. 

__

One last kill, and then I'm finished with this profession. She told herself. _But what, then, will I have left? _

* * *

Evara sneered at the troll-head with disgust, nudging it with her toe. The eyes were glazed over, and the putrid green tongue lolled out of the mouth and touched the floor of Evara's throne room. 

"Well done, Strongsword. And you as well, Kara. You have both done well in lifting this curse from our heads." Evara said, nodding at them both in turn. The redheaded Strongsword wore a delighted smile on his face, full of goron pride. _Fool, _Kara thought, _It was my arrow that slew the beast, not that cumbersome chunk of red steel that you call a sword. _

The Strongsword knelt on the ground, "It was my honor to serve you, Queen Evara," He said_, _"but I must return to Death Mountain and my people." 

__

Your people? If you are a Goron you certainly don't look it. Kara thought. 

As he stood to leave Evara stopped him, "I received a message from your chieftain, and it is in Goron runes that I cannot read so I surmise that it is for you. It might be that you have some other errand to attend to before you return to the mountains." Evara produced a yellowed parchment and handed it to the swordsman. 

He bowed and opened it. He began to read and his face gradually changed until his eyes became serious and his mouth took on a hard line. After he finished he considered for a moment and then looked back to the queen. "I have pressing business, your grace, if you would excuse me." He left the room in a hurry, brushing passed Kara without looking up. 

__

This is curious, she thought. _What could have been in that letter?_

* * *

__

A dark wind rises, a storm approaches, an evil looms. The Shaman foretells doom. A new quest I bequeath you, Strongsword. Seek out the stone of blue light, Nayru's tear, evil's bane. The wisdom of the Sage of Light will guide you on your way. He will find you. 

The message was short and to the point, none of his masters were much for idleness. By the lyrical tone of this message he guessed that it was Abbai who wrote it. It gave him chills, this talk of evil looming and dark wind rising.

Cory jogged out of the palace at a steady pace, eager to start this new quest for a savior stone. He had no idea that he was being followed. 


	10. Chapter 9

The forest was dark, lightened only by crisscrossing beams of moonlight that found their way through the thick boughs of the canopy. Kara ran across the leaf-covered floor of the forest, her bare feet making no noise as she weaved in between the trees. She could here Cory further ahead, making more noise than a bear would as he stumbled through the forest with all of his clumsiness. She could follow him if she were blind.

She told herself once more that she was being foolish for following this goron-man. But something was happening, something was in that note that was very important and she intended to find out just what that something was. Curiosity had gotten the better of her, as it always seemed to do. Her long legs were beginning to become sore; she had chased him for about an hour now. But the forest was thinning now, and soon they would be on the long swaying grasses of the Hyrulian plain. The place where she was born, where she knew every creek and stand of trees and landmark. Then she would have the advantage. 

Sure enough there was a short rise, and on the other side was the moonlit sea of grass, swaying with a night breeze. She had not seen it for sixty years, not since she had left her people and traveled out into the world as an assassin. But its secrets were still prominent in her ageless mind, and she felt like she had been gone for only a few short months. 

With the forest behind him the Strongsword settled down to rest. From a distance she watched him kindle a fire and take a bag of dried meat from his pack. Kara lay silently on her stomach and watched...

* * *

Cory chewed away at the meat and stared into the fire, waiting for his heart rate to slow. He had ran non-stop for nearly an hour, eager to get out onto the plain and settle down to wait for this "Sage of Light" to find him and give him instructions. 

__

A dark wind rises...

The ominous note still chilled him to the bone. It was in his thoughts throughout the entire run, overwhelming him. What did it mean? What was this blue stone called Nayru's tear, and why was it the bane of evil? _Too many questions and not nearly enough answers. _

The night wore on with agonizing slowness. He began to feel that he was wasting time, that this Sage of Light would find him someplace else. But he sat on stubbornly, watching the moon slowly move across the dark blanket of the night sky. As the hours stretched on his weariness reared its ugly head. Several times his eyes would flutter closed and his chin would fall to his chest only to shoot back up as he realized sleep had almost caught him in her tempting snare. 

It was as the eastern sky began to lighten that he heard a rustle and saw the long grass on a rise a short distance away move. Suddenly wide-awake, he stood and picked up his fur-covered scabbard. He walked slowly toward the disturbance, the scabbard held in the crook of his left arm, hilt facing downward. He squinted into the darkness, telling himself that it was merely a prairie dog or hare. He walked on nonetheless, right hand clutching the hilt of the Sword of Darunia, ready to be drawn. 

As he approached he thought he saw a vague outline laying in the protection of the grass, but with the darkness he could not be sure. As he drew closer he realized that there was, indeed, someone or something lying in the grass. It was when he reached the immobile form he realized it was a woman, either asleep or dead. He kneeled and touched her shoulder. 

She shot up with amazing speed, jumping back. He heard steel being drawn, and saw a flash of moonlight on metal. He drew his sword and threw the scabbard to the ground. It was in the sword's red glow that he recognized who the woman was.

"What are you doing here!" He demanded. "Are you following me?" 

The she-elf Kara said nothing, appraising him with her haunting blue eyes. She did not replace her knife, and so he did not lower his sword. 

"Are you mute, woman? Answer me!" He said, seething with anger. When in the Zoran City the woman had acted like he was the most unwelcome company on the good green earth, and now she was following him? 

"You demand nothing of me!" She said, her eyes fierce. She sheathed her knife in her belt scabbard and he grudgingly did the same. "I follow you under instruction from the Queen. She wanted me to help you in a gesture of thanks from the Zora to the Gorons." 

"I don't need you tagging along--" He started, before she interrupted him. 

"Well you have no choice, Strongsword. I will not disobey the orders of my queen." 

"But she is not even your queen! You are not Zoran--" 

"Neither are you a Goron, but you follow the orders of their chieftains. Do not question me for doing the same!" She said, interrupting him once more. 

Cory stared at her with narrowed eyes. "I have a feeling that I am not going to get you to go away..." He said, after a moment's deliberation. 

"You are extremely perceptive, Strongsword." She said, sarcastically. Cory didn't think he would be able to listen to her damnable sarcasm for very long. He had a notion, however, that if he denied her she would still follow him no matter what his feelings. 

"You might as well come and sit." He said, ruefully. He led her to the fire, which was dwindling. 

"Why do you wait here?" She asked as they sat next to the fire. He poked at it with a twig to shift the coals and cause the flame to shoot up once more. 

He didn't want to tell her of his mission, but he supposed that if she was going to be his companion she should at least be informed. He reached into the black coat that Evara had gifted him and handed Kara the yellowed parchment. "I don't suppose you can decipher Goron runes," he said, as she appraised it, "but this note tells of a stone called Nayru's Tear, and its importance in banishing a darkness that is rising. I was told that someone called the 'Sage of Light' would find me and instruct me further."

Kara's slender eyebrow arched, "did you say 'Nayru's Tear'?" She asked, her characteristic sarcasm unapparent for once. 

"Yes. I have never heard of it before. Is it some kind of precious jewel?" He asked. 

"More precious than you can imagine, Strongsword." She replied. Cory was trying to decide if that was some kind of affront to him when she continued, "In my tribe there is a legend told quite often around our campfires and hearths. It is the tale of the ancient Elven-king Link Arstar, whose empire stretched from the distant hills of Merr to the northern reaches of Calatia." 

Cory rested his chin in the cup of his hand and listened carefully. He had heard of Link, the Gorons held him in great esteem. Ages and ages ago he apparently helped King Darunia slay the dreaded firedrake in the volcanic caverns of Death Mountain. He didn't know if Kara spoke of the same Link or of one of his many sons, grandsons, and great grandsons who shared the same name. 

Kara continued, "Arstar ruled peacefully for many years, but in an especially cruel and long winter darkness fell upon his vast empire in the form of Ganondorf's dark legions, the demi-humans. War raged, people died, ruin and destruction became widespread. Link's armies resisted the demi-humans for as long as they could, but eventually the Dark One's armies destroyed the walls of Link's capital and set the great city afire. 

"Link died while defending his small folk and all hope seemed to be lost. His children, twins Jalen and Alia, were spirited away by Link's faithful steward and went into hiding in the vast Gerudo Waste. Over the next few years Link's empire was torn down and ruined. Much was lost in the unforgiving fires of the demi-humans; centuries and centuries of cultural evolution and history was forgotten and the world fell into a Dark Age that took centuries to recover from." Kara's voice was surprisingly sorrowful and somber as she recounted her story. 

"It was in this time that the Goddess Nayru, from atop her throne in the vast endlessness of the heavens, shed a single tear which fell through the mists of time. It froze in on itself, layer after layer becoming hard crystal, and finally fell to earth in a shower of blue flame. 

"It was in the deserts of the Waste that Jalen and his sister found it resting at the bottom of a smoking crater. Now a young man and woman, they had both spent years learning the ancient Way of the Knife, _Asudara_, from the Elven edgemasters that made the shifting sands of the desert their home--"

Cory reluctantly interrupted her with a question, "is that the same style that you fight with?" 

Kara looked at him, "yes, though my prowess with _Asudara_ is not nearly as refined as it should be. I will continue," 

"The fallen tear proved to possess great power. It endowed its bearer amazing speed and agility, and god-like strength. And beyond that it could grant any wish the heart desired, for good or evil. It spoke to the twins, and chose Jalen as its master to banish Ganondorf's evil. 

"With the power of the stone Jalen was able to throw down the demi-humans and banish Ganondorf to the prison from whence he had escaped. The twins began a new dynasty together, but its wonders are another story." 

By the time Kara finished the sun was all the way up, its golden light spreading across the grasses. Cory was struck from what he had heard. Was all that Kara said true or just legend? He could hardly imagine something with such amazing power. "So this is what I seek." He told himself, disbelieving. 

"I doubt it even exists--" Kara started, but then she was interrupted by a strange voice. 

"HOOT HOOT, it certainly does exist, HOOT HOOT." 


	11. Chapter 10

The dark was prevalent everywhere, seeping through every rock and tree and hilltop. The night was silent, almost eerily calm in its quiet. The moon was large and yellow, so low that Zir could only see its top peeking over the far horizon. The sleeping forms of his troops were stretched out all around him, seeking rest before the march was taken up once more. There were more than there had been on the coast. They had gathered a few from each garrison that they had passed on their long march toward Merr, their ranks slowly swelling until they equaled seven fists, thirty soldiers in total. 

His brother Arck was lying a few feet away, snoring as he slept. Vwalir paced several yards away, arms clasped behind his broad back, one hand resting on the handle of his axe and the other holding a long curving horn. He never slept, it seemed. Zir knew, for he was up most nights as well, contemplating his mission and thinking of every possible outcome or problem that his group might face. It was hard work to be in command. Especially on a mission that seemed as important as this one. He remembered what Ganondorf had said in the darkness of the sea-cave.

__

"With this stone I can once again enter the living world and exact my revenge on all that wronged me."

A world where Ganondorf ruled once again, where Demi-humans were the ruling race in all of Hyrule. Zir could hardly imagine it, like it was some unattainable dream. He had no doubt that his master would reward him greatly for this mission when he came into power once more. All that he needed to do was find this stone. 

They were on the outskirts of the Gerudo Waste, and he wanted to make sure that they had plenty of provisions for making the hard trek across the maze of rock and sand, where the temperature was scorching in the day and freezing in the nighttime. It would be hard, and Zir had no doubt that he would lose some soldiers. The humans would be the first to go; they were made out of weaker stuff than his people were. But their sacrifice would not be in vain--they would serve as food for the demi-human soldiers. For the most part demi-humans preferred the meat of game animals--deer, elk, and antelope--but they would not shy from man flesh if there was nothing else. 

As Zir counted the humans in his band, figuring how long they could feed the rest, a dark shape caught his eye some distance away. It stood on a outthrust finger of rock, silhouetted against the bright yellow moon. It took Zir a moment to realize the shape wasn't a trick the nighttime played on his eyes but a solitary man, garbed in a billowing black robe and looking down on the sleeping band. Zir squinted, trying to make out more details, but the figure disappeared. 

Zir shook his head. It was probably only a thief curious of their presence, certainly not bold enough to attack a group of fully armed soldiers, many of which were demi-humans: the fiercest warriors in all of Hyrule. Nevertheless, he clutched the hilts of his two deadly sharp sabers where they were sheathed at his waist. 

What happened next Zir would never forget. Six figures appeared out of the mists, garbed in black robes cinched tight around their waists. They wore black fabric that was twisted around their heads to form a hat, and their faces were veiled with the same black material, revealing nothing but their hard, intent eyes. It was when he saw their hands clutching long curving knives that glinted golden in the moonlight that he ripped his sabers free and shouted.

"Vwalir!" 

The bird head twisted around and saw the figures, and then brought the horn up and blew two hard, long blasts. The camp awoke in noise and confusion, thirty soldiers reaching for their weapons in the darkness at the same time, tumbling out of their bedrolls and stumbling into each other. 

Zir bellowed orders, and when Arck awoke he did the same, gripping his spiked battle hammer. Still twenty yards off the six figures strolled toward them casually, ominously. _They are only six...they have no chance._ He told himself. Within moments the force was assembled, ready to meet the threat. 

"Identify yourself!" Zir called. His order fell on deaf ears. The figures continued on toward them, fearless. And then they began to run...and Zir gasped. They were so swift that he could hardly follow their movements, they appeared only has black streaks in the golden moonlight, trails of dust shooting up behind them. And then they were among them, and the first line of soldiers was gone in a mist of red confusion. Screams echoed in the night. 

His soldiers started to swing aimlessly, trying to connect with the swift black streaks that ran among them, their blades hitting nothing but air. In horror he watched a black streak fly past a bear demi-human, a slash of gold slicing through its throat and sending it to the ground. The streak stopped, skid in the dust, and was identifiable as a man once more, pausing to watch the life blood of the soldier run into the dust before he was away once more, a streak running about the chaos, killing another, and another. 

All over soldiers fell and died. He saw one soldier, a human, swing wildly at one of the black-robed warriors that stood before him. The warrior dodged, so quickly that he left an afterimage. The soldier swung at the afterimage, slicing through nothing, and then the black warrior was behind him. He gripped the soldier's shoulder with one hand and drove the curved knife into his back with the other--once, twice, thrice. The soldier fell to the ground and was dead. 

Zir was so focused on the bloody chaos folding out before him that he didn't even notice Arck shaking his shoulder and shouting into his ear. "We have to fall back brother! We are being slaughtered!" His brother's voice was muted, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. He felt Arck pulling him away from the bloodshed, away from the screams of pain and the smell of death. 

And then they were running, over a rise and into the plain. They ran on and on forever it seemed, until at last the sounds of combat faded in the night. His lungs burned, sweat dropped of his fur in drops. And then, as the sun began to rise, he fell to the ground in a heap. He drifted into darkness. 


	12. Chapter 11

It had been six days since Glazyre had escaped from Alans Bay with the monk girl named Aine. It had been a long and arduous journey, especially within the first few days away from the city. They had been forced to travel fast, fearing pursuit after the jailbreak. But they had survived, even though the young monk had trouble in keeping up with the lithe endurance of the thief. She tired very easily, and Glazyre began to feel that this would be a long journey indeed. But the prize...the prize would be grand. 

Glazyre had the chance of capturing the most precious jewel in Hyrule, the legendary Tear Stone that he had only heard of in half remembered tales told in the taverns and whorehouses he had visited in his short lifetime. Glazyre didn't fully believe that such a stone existed, and even if it did he doubted that it truly fell from the eye of a Goddess that didn't exist. Nevertheless he had a debt to pay, and if traveling with this naive young woman might somehow see him finding the rarest treasure ever he would do it gladly. 

And so he trudged along, climbing a rise on the vast plain, Aine laboring behind him with ragged breaths. They traveled west, toward his homeland of Merr, where this stone was said to exist in the highest reaches of the Avkarat Ranges. He never thought that he would once more see the rolling hills and sweltering swamps of his homeland, never wished to in truth. There were too many bad memories there, memories that he had not yet fully come to terms with. But a debt was a debt, and he was no man if he could not help this young woman as she had helped him. 

He looked back at the monk. Her light brown hair was wet with sweat, falling into her eyes. This journey would be hard on her. She was already struggling and they had not even reached the most difficult part of the journey yet. The Gerudo Wastes were not a place for the weak; more travelers than could be counted had disappeared in its shifting sands never to return. 

With the sun setting red and orange in the western sky Glazyre at last called a halt to their march. He shrugged off his pack, which was full of provisions they had purchased before leaving, and settled down under a grove of trees he had spotted not long before. Aine did the same, collapsing in a heap beneath a tree and taking a long swallow from her water skin. She still wore the same simple white dress that he had first seen her in. He had urged her to abandon it for more travel-worthy clothing but she had refused, unwilling to wear anything but that which identified her as a Kiran monk. 

Glazyre went about starting a campfire, collecting wood from beneath the grove. By the time full night had fallen it was crackling well, sending sparks into the air. They ate a modest dinner of dried meat and some apples they had collected from a tree they had chanced upon the night before. Aine, like she did every night, reached into her pack and pulled out her heavy book of psalms. He had urged her to abandon this as well, so that her pack didn't wear so heavy on her back. She, of course, had refused. 

He sat cross-legged before the fire, watching her read. 

"Why do you waste your time on that?" 

Aine looked up, appraising him critically. "Studying the teachings of the Three Mothers is not a waste of time." She said, her eyes dropping once more to the leather-bound book. 

Glazyre poked at the fire with a stick and said, "I tried to read that huge pile of paper and leather once when I was a child. I found it confusingly archaic and mind numbingly boring." 

"An unfortunate opinion," Aine said without looking up, "much can be gleaned from this 'pile of paper and leather'." 

"Like what?" He inquired, his voice sardonic. 

Aine looked up, "..._And again I say, those who believeth in the true love of the Mothers, those whose heart's are filled with charity and warmth, shall not walk in darkness but be glorified in the light, for Farore said 'Live with truth and caring, with love and goodwill and thy spirit will sit amongst us in the glories of Heaven." _Aine looked at him as if the quoted passage would somehow change his entire outlook. He was almost sorry to disappoint her. 

"Here is another lesson," Glazyre said, "If you live with truth and caring, love and goodwill, you will find yourself knifed in the back and stripped of all your belongings. This world doesn't give a damn about how charitable you are, or how warm your heart is. That is why I don't give a damn about _it_." 

"But that is so untrue...there are those who truly care in this world--"

"There is only one person that people care about--themselves," Glazyre snapped. He found himself becoming annoyed at Aine's unconditional trust. 

"What happened to you to fill you with so much hate?" Aine asked. 

He sat silent.

Aine watched him; he could feel her eyes on him as he stared into the fire. There was an uncomfortable silence, and Glazyre started to wonder if he should say something to change the subject. When the silence stretched on even longer he couldn't take it anymore.

"Tell me this, Aine. What kind of a Goddess would sit by idly and watch a mother abandon her son? What kind of Goddess would watch as a boy was left alone to fend for himself, with no friend? Tell me that, monk. Tell me what kind of Goddess would sit and watch when a boy sobs and cries, praying--no, _pleading--_ to the heavens for his mother to come back, so that he wouldn't be cold and alone anymore? What kind of Goddess is that, Aine?" When she didn't answer he asked once more. 

"...I don't know" was all she could say. She looked at him, pity in her eyes. He _hated _that look. 

"Well I do know. The kind of Goddess that could do that is cold and uncaring and deserves no worship from me." He slid around, lying down with his back to the fire. 

"Good night." He said. 

* * *

Takiya was close now. She had been hard on her quarry's tale for five days now, drawing nearer with each cycle of the firmament, readying herself for her final kill. The pair she chased was obviously skilled; they revealed their tracks in such a way that she almost lost the trail several times. If it weren't for the woodcraft that Tigrin had taught her she would most likely be wondering aimlessly in this maze of flowing grasses. But her heart was set, her legs tireless, and her knife ready...

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End file.
